


Subacute sclerosing panencephalitis

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Procedures, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: Wrathion’s heavy-lidded amber gaze turned to Anduin. The edges of his lips curled into a smirk, serving only to highlight a visage far more handsome than it had any right to be for someone so ill. In fact, the man seemed to revel in flaunting his supernaturally perfect curls, trimmed goatee, and flawless complexion, almost as if to spite his own ailments with his extreme physical beauty.Anduin saves Wrathion's life. They get coffee after.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Subacute sclerosing panencephalitis

**Author's Note:**

> That's it. That's the story. 
> 
> Lightly edited. 
> 
> Very, very loosely based on the House MD episode "Paternity".

Anduin skimmed over Wrathion’s - no, his _patient’s_ \- latest test results on his tablet. 

Cold disappointment dropped into the pit of his stomach as hot frustration flooded his cheeks. 

Anduin’s finger swiped to the start of the electronic chart with more force than necessary. For good measure, his bloodshot gaze traced over every letter, every number, every symbol, hoping that his impatience had somehow caused him to miss _something_. But the outcome remained the same. The word “NEGATIVE” mocked him over and over and over again. 

Anduin tossed his _infernal_ device onto the desk, causing his computer monitor to quake. 

At this rate, Anduin’s patient would die without ever knowing what killed him. 

The doctor rubbed his fingers over the loose, purpling flesh beneath his eyes. He yawned. In spite of the _gallons_ of coffee he had consumed throughout that day, exhaustion hung over his head like a poisonous frog - wait, no, fog. _Okay. Maybe, it’s time for a nap._

Anduin stumbled out of his office and trudged down the empty hallway towards the on-call facilities. In his fatigue-fueled momentary lapse of judgement, it hadn't occurred to Anduin that he would inevitably pass Wrathion’s room on his way to a warm, cozy bed. No, the thought only broached his mind when he spotted his patient through the glass walls of his enclosure, watching an infomercial on the tiny television screen hanging from the ceiling in front of his own bed. 

With a turn of the wrist, Anduin checked his smartwatch. It read “12:33 am”. Why was Wrathion still awake at this hour? 

Anduin pivoted to the side and made his way into Wrathion’s room (after giving his door the customary “doctor knock”, as his colleagues described it.) “Hey, what’re you doing still awake?” 

Wrathion’s heavy-lidded amber gaze turned to Anduin. The edges of his lips curled into a smirk, serving only to highlight a visage far more handsome than it had any right to be for someone so ill. In fact, the man seemed to revel in flaunting his _supernaturally_ perfect curls, trimmed goatee, and flawless complexion, almost as if to spite his own ailments with his extreme physical beauty. 

“Waiting for you to stop resisting my charms,” Wrathion finally replied. He fluttered his unusually long eyelashes for good measure. 

Anduin did not counter Wrathion’s habitual flirtations (despite the way his heart hammered against his rib cage). Instead, he rolled his eyes, sighed, and inched towards one of the plastic vistor’s chairs on Wrathion’s side. He plopped into the hard seat with a loud, heavy groan. Despite the protests from his aching back and joints, he found the rest of his body melting into a boneless heap. 

“What’re we watching?” Anduin slurred. 

Wrathion pointed a long, elegant finger at the screen. With a flamboyant flourish, he explained, “As you can see, poor Elenor is attempting to sell a tragically expensive lipstick while also trying to catch the affections of her co-host. Observe.” 

And Anduin did observe, although he could not see the same story play out as Wrathion did. He had come to realize, during his time as Wrathion’s physician, that his patient took delight in things Anduin seemed blind to. _The twinkle in her eye_ and the _mischievous quirk to his smile_ were invisible features to Anduin. But to Wrathion, they added to the rich tapestry of life unfolding all around them. 

_It’s like he’s privy to all the wonder of the world._

How awful would it be for the Earth to lose a mind that can see grandeur in late-night QVC? Or nurse gossip? Or the goings-on below the window of his room? How awful would it be for the Earth to lose someone so willing to share that grandeur with those around him - including a lonely physician? 

Would humanity lose a poet? An artist? An author? Regardless of Wrathion’s chosen field, it would be a devastating loss to that community. 

No! Anduin won’t allow it to happen! But to prevent such a fate, he needed to run on more than determination and coffee. “I have to head to bed,” Anduin yawned as he came to a stand. “We have to run more tests on you tomorrow.” 

Wrathion nodded, smile tired but no less dazzling. “Goodnight, Anduin.” 

The way his name spilled from between Wrathion’s kissable lips set Anduin’s tummy aflame. Suddenly, the young doctor found his shoes rooted to the ground, unable to bring himself to leave Wrathion’s side. And to his horror, Wrathion seemed to perceive his sudden inability to walk, if his smirk was any indication. 

Quickly! Anduin needed an excuse! 

“Do you need a sedative? Something to help you sleep?” Anduin offered with all the subtlety and grace of a nuclear bomb. 

“No, thank you,” Wrathion chuckled. “I’d rather keep the night terrors at bay for a little while longer.” 

Hot alarm raced through Anduin. Night terrors? Why wasn’t he informed about this? “How long have you been having night terrors?” 

“Since I became ill.” Wrathion shrugged. 

“No one notated that in your chart.” Anduin could guarantee that. After spending countless hours reading it from top to bottom, front to back, Anduin could recite the damned thing in his sleep. 

Wrathion tilted his head. “My first doctor, the neurologist - you remember her - she said it was due to my anxiety over my condition. I didn’t think to challenge her on it. Why? Is it important?” 

Yes. It was. At that moment, Anduin knew the exact condition his patient suffered from. 

“I’m going to need a piece of your eye.” 

(There was something extremely satisfying about seeing an unflappable man suddenly startle.)

* * *

“You have _Subacute sclerosing panencephalitis_ or Dawson’s Disease. It’s a rare inflammation of the brain caused by a rogue measles virus,” Anduin began, attempting to sound clinical about the discovery rather than giddy. It only seemed polite considering Wrathion _suffered_ from said condition. “In the past, it was generally considered fatal in almost one hundred percent of cases. Now, if it’s caught in time, it just requires a procedure to stick a whole bunch of medicine in your head to fix. You’ll be -” 

“And you caught this because of my night terrors?” Wrathion interrupted. His hands paused over the pamphlets and literature Anduin had printed out for him. 

Anduin blinked. “That, and your mood swings, fever, headache -” 

“Anduin,” Wrathion chuckled. He shifted against his pillows. “Don’t be so humble. You took a data point other doctors had dismissed to solve a complex mystery involving a rare diagnosis. You caught this in time, saving my life. All because you spent fifteen minutes speaking to me rather than sleeping. All because you care about people in a way most don’t.” 

Anduin suddenly felt as if he were under a microscope, stripped bare, and _seen_ by Wrathion. Those sharp eyes of his bore into his very soul, bearing witness to every facet of his being. Yet, despite the discomfort it wrought, Anduin found flattery under the scrutiny. Finally, Wrathion discovered something beautiful about _him_. 

* * *

The spring air outside of Stormwind General became significantly cooler as the sun sunk beneath the horizon. Anduin huddled on a bench, seeking shelter beneath the awning over the hospital’s bus stop. Still, his leg, in an effort to warm itself, bounced to little avail. 

If he remained outside for much longer, he would simply earn an ache that would rob him of a good night’s rest. But there wasn’t enough time to shake off his chill inside _and_ run back to meet his bus. 

Anduin contemplated calling his father for a ride home. Just as he made a motion to stand, however, a black sports car of some kind came to a gentle halt beside him. The passenger-side window rolled down with a quiet hum. The driver leaned over the side of his center console to peak out at him. It was Wrathion! “Doctor Wrynn! My, what are you doing out here?” 

“Waiting for the bus …?” 

“Absolutely not!” Wrathion gasped. He settled back into his seat, pressed a button on his side door panel, and the passenger door opened with an automatic swish. “Get in. I’ll take you to a coffee shop to warm up. Then, we’ll settle on whose place to stay at for the night.” 

Anduin barked out a laugh, even as his cheeks flooded with heat. “I’ve already told you, you’re my patient. And I can’t ethically -” 

“I’ve been discharged, so I’m sadly no longer your patient,” Wrathion argued. “Ergo, no ethical dilemma to be had. Come in.” 

Anduin chewed on his bottom lip; Wrathion had an excellent point. As long as the coffee wasn't a gift for his services, nothing untoward could be interpreted from such a simple outing. Right? Right. 

A heartbeat later, Anduin found his form melding into a heated ergonomic chair, padded with the softest dark leather. To his side, Wrathion made several adjustments on a tablet-sized screen situated into his console, presumably for his unplanned passenger’s comfort. Not that Anduin glanced to confirm; he couldn’t quite tear his gaze from where Wrathion’s folded sleeves bulged over the healthy meat of his arm.

“I’m fortunate you don’t seem to have a vehicle,” Wrathion joked, pulling Anduin from his reverie. His large hand lowered to his gearshift, giving Anduin an unencumbered view of where the unbuttoned portion of Wrathion’s shirt revealed the tops of his whiskered pectorals. “Although, as a doctor, I would think you could afford one.” 

Anduin adjusted his watering mouth and scoffed. “Not with my student loans. Do you know how expensive medical school is?”   
  
Wrathion drove forward and nodded. “That is a valid point. I work in personal and business finance. I know _exactly_ how expensive medical school is.” 

  
_Finance!? That explains the car!_ Anduin schooled his expression to remain neutral despite his surprise. How could someone so creative, so artistic, sit behind a desk all day? _Fascinating._ He had to know more.   
  
“Do you have a preferred coffee shop?” Wrathion inquired with a teasing edge. “If not, my apartment is not too far away, and I can make you a great latte.”   
  
Anduin pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Just take me to a _Starbucks_ . And after, you’re going to take me to my _overprotective_ dad’s house.”   
  
Wrathion grinned as if he had been presented a challenge. “Sure thing.”


End file.
